


Collections

by FancyLadySnackCakes



Category: The Cabin in the Woods (2011)
Genre: Basically, Biting, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Body Modification, Bondage, Canon-Typical Violence, Dubious Consent, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Fisting, Genital Torture, Gore, Groping, Kissing, PWP, Pain, Painful Sex, Rough Sex, Torture, Vaginal Fisting, Vaginal tearing, You've been warned, chain bondage, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:41:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23829262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancyLadySnackCakes/pseuds/FancyLadySnackCakes
Summary: Anonymous asked: So how about that uhm, that Fornicus huh? Lord of Bondage and Pain? Pinhead’s beefier cousin? From The Cabin in the Woods? What a keeper, it’s Mister “Don’t Sit On My Fucking Face.” I’d gladly let him puzzle my box EYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYA/N: I've wanted to write something for this demonic dude for a while now. I don't know if I did him justice or not, but it's been a while since I've finished something, so here ya go! Hope you like it, Anon. <3
Relationships: Fornicus (Cabin in the Woods)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 44





	Collections

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Anonymous](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anonymous/gifts).



Alvi Kurbanov always told her, in his finite wisdom, that it only takes one button to end the world. She hears it now, that craggy voice full of mouth cancer which still smoked cigars until his death,  _ ‘A fool with switch. That end of line, dochinka.’ _

Hard edges swept into cut circular pieces imprint pressure-marks within her palms… under her inquisitive fingers, and with just the right twist, turn and press, the horror begins. The world ends. 

The puzzle warms with promises as her Grandpappy echoes dead warnings,  _ ‘Like mischievous, curiosity is killer of senseless kitty-cat. Do not be kitty. Do not make curious way with things you know nothing.’ _

Yet, that is what Emelia does, and she does so believing she knows better - that whatever this ageless trinket brings upon the world, it can’t be worse than the pile of unpaid bills behind her, the bruise beneath her eye, nor the pain of loneliness. Whatever hell she awakens, it can not be worse than existence as it has become.

She tells herself this as anxiety creeps up the soles of her feet. Vibrations beneath her act as the first warning of things to come. Tectonics shift inside sweat-stained brass, rattling inside her palms, like the molten earth shifting under her feet. There is no difference between the earth ending and the puzzle ball inside her palms whirling with reborn greed. There's no difference because her world is now this… thing… and whatever she’s summoned. 

Dusty, unkempt bobbles from the east and the west rattle on the shelves as her knees wobble. An otherworldly darkness leaks in from outside, gathering like a storm that swallows what little light the old tobacco-stained windows filtered in, leaving a few old Victorian-era gaslights on display to fight for justice in a pitch world.

Her mortal fears for the family antique shop seem insignificant now when faced with the lazy tendrils of animated shadow that worm their way inside. 

When the first banker arrived to discuss payment arrangements, court dates, and nonsense, Emelia thought that was what true fear felt like. Then her cousin Artur arrived to take whatever he could pawn, knocking her in the face for daring to stand up for herself and the meager legacy Alvi left them. Had fear peaked then? No. This… now... is primal terror. 

Fear of the unknown and of dangerous unknowns at that. 

She played with the sphere, perhaps knowing what awaited her. As though to say, take me… because it’s either you or the bank or Artur, yet the bank and the bruises did not destroy her world like it’s about to be.

The earth begins to tremble and the darkness grows intellect as it pools into the center of the lobby, summoning forth ancient evil that seemed like a casual response to her morning anxieties mere moments ago. Bills and letters of notice flutter softly behind her on the counter, as if to wag their wings in disappointment over her rotten choices.

_ ‘You take care of shop when I am gone. I don’t trust Artur with even minuscule task. Why give that oaf shop when I can give to you? You - you will take care of it. I trust you, dochinka.’ _

How miserable a move that had been. The old man never had been good at chess, and no finer example was that than now, as she witnesses matter form out of empty air with an almost detached sense of dread. 

The bear-weightless puzzle sphere slips from her hands, thunking to the floor as she watches. Its weight suddenly exceeds that of a cannonball; splintering a hole in the hardwood floors, but she can’t count the repair costs when the tall, thick body of a man solidifies before her.

“I’m sorry…” she squeaks between a swollen throat and the noxious air - hellish odors that leak from the sphere now lodged in the floor. 

“I’m sorry,” Emelia begs, either for mercy from the merciless demon materializing before her or for her Grandpappy’s soul. Shame layers over her terror, adding a depressive edge to what should have been distilled panic.

_ Sorry, _ won't send this creature back. An apology, no matter how she bends to her knees and prays, will not grant mercy or undo what’s been done; it’s not good enough for what she’s brought upon her and her family name. Yet Emelia lets apologies fall from her lips like the tears that begin dribbling into her lashes. 

She mumbles bargains for her life and the shop’s future with gross blabberings, hiccuping on mucus and saliva as gaslight caresses metal blades, oiled leather, and cadaverous skin. Protrusions of saw blades, sharp as a razor, slither with golden reflections while eyes the color of black holes emit nothing but pitch darkness.

The demon’s head tilts forward, bare shoulders raised in layers of bulk muscles and collared leather wraps. Barbed wire tightens around biceps, elbows, and forearms as if to reign in the strength beneath his thick, bulging arms… 

He gazes forward, unblinking, with black marbles of apathy. Stark remembrance hits her on a delay; lagging behind her sniffling panic. At once, memories bite into her throat. 

_ Alvi Kurbanov scoffs with a cigar between his teeth and bobs her on his knee like she’s four again instead of six. He swats the back of her head when she sobs, begging him to tell her a happier story; something with diamonds and lost loves. He continues to read to her, just a little girl - too young for such dark stories - about the obscene, unknown, and very, very real dimensions that lay just behind known reality.  _

Even then, as a child, she knew the difference between Grandpappy’s tales and those Grimm fairy-stories told to her before bed.

She just… Emelia never thought she’d summon... him… The Lord of Bondage and Pain: one of the many brothers and sisters of the Labyrinth - of Hell or whatever pocket dimension they reside in. Their castle names escape her now. Their dungeon rules, forgotten. 

Emelia remembers  _ his _ name though. 

Fornicus…

Of all the angelic demons she could have summoned, she pulled him into her world. 

From a backdrop of dark mist, Fornicus: Lord of Bondage and Pain, steps forth. Black tendrils cling to him as he steps closer, deeper, and ever further forward into her ruptured bubble. The last spider silk-remains of his transition fall around his body, drifting to the floor. 

Emelia swallows, but just barely, taking in all his many details: animal eyes of blackness, strong pale features like geometric bone overlaid with flesh and segmented by sharp, weeping saw blades, blood… and more...

With an electric surge the puzzle in the floor slingshots into his palm, cutting air as hard as a bullet. Her body jolts as though affected by the momentum, but it’s the loud, rattle of air from his chest that sends her reeling against the desk; fingers sliding along the oiled trim as if for some semblance of purchase. 

Behind her, the old-timey register chimes then ejects it’s tray with a thick metal scrape, making her heart wobble in her chest.

The sounds… the sights and the smells - like burnt ether and bloody rust - are too much. Too much more, and Emelia knows she’ll keel over dead.

_ ‘If finding yourself faced with evil, remember old Alvi’s words: Those whose fate is sealed, do well to remember their courtesies. Never face death with rude visage. Then, Death has no reason to grant mercy.’ _

She used to whisper to the imagined monsters under her bed before sleep - used to say  _ ‘goodnight and sleep well, my guests.’  _ Those courtesies faded away as she grew older and more jaded, but the words tumble over her tongue now as easily as they had all those years ago.

“Good evening, my Lord,” she stutters only as she breathes outwards, shivering in terror as Fornicus stares unblinking down at her, his face never moving into any expression other than pure passivity. Still, she continues, “My name... is Emelia.”

Lord Fornicus merely exhales out his nostrils, boring holes in her eyes with his own until the pain of holding such eye contact makes her eyes water; more tears flowing.

“Emm-umm…” her wet eyes dart with no real rhyme or reason, certainly not looking for a weapon to defend herself with for that would be inane - it would be heresy, “Emelia Kurbanov and… and-“

He steps closer, barely a shift of sound as he moves, pressing her into the counter with the hard plank of his abdomen. A living shadow of flesh and leather - of black eyes that reflect her frozen pallor, and of skin as burning hot as the blood beneath hers - touches her. It’s almost honorific.

She tries to recall speech, but it’s difficult when her spine cracks against the counter’s edge - when her breasts ache against his chest… when her fear delays any charge between her brain. There’s no hope for words when barbwire-wrapped arms gradually crowd her in; a palm gripping the wooden edge at her side with splintering force.

“... umm,” a lick of her lips casts wet firelight along the bulbs of his eyes. Whether he looks down at her mouth or not, it is impossible to tell when the whole expanse is the color of nothing. Absent life and bellied darkness, sliding in their sockets… or simply hovering in stillness. 

His full lips thin for a moment as the gaslight casts his eyes in a glimmer once again, this time gazing over the fresh bruise beneath her eyes socket with a tilted sort of tension. Some of his work has already been done for him, Emelia thinks, wondering if the summoned punishment he bestows will be worse because of Artur’s temper.

Fornicus - Lord of Bondage and Pain - sets the puzzle sphere beside her white knuckle grip on the counter. The soft thunk of brass and golden metal jump-starts her brain, suddenly firing on all cylinders. Emelia’s courage wets with the careful brush of his thumb along the inner strain of her wrist, skimming against the raised tendons and vein-work pulsing with tachycardia. 

She shivers - full-bodied - as his palm scratches up her arm, around her elbow, to her shoulder and neck. The heat from her skin warms his palm into something refreshing, so unlike what she expected that the soft pain his thumb presses into her black eye startles a moan from her throat.

Hope buds and blossoms with an almost apologetic trace beneath her eye. She smiles weakly, takes a grounding breath under the guise of unspoken safety, and welcomes him just like Alvi Kurbanov taught her.

“Welcome to The Red House Emporium. I implore you to make yourself at home, Lord Fornicus. I-uh…” another lick of her lips, confidence wavering beneath his hot-black gaze, “I’m honored to be in your presence. The stories about you - the ones I read - they… pale in comparison to the truth… that… ”

That feather-like touch lowers to her throat. Tender pressure with vile intent slows her words to a crawl; blunt fingernails denting the skin behind her ear. 

“... you… ah-,” a dizzying sense of horror soaks in like the transfer of sweat does around his grip, “... you’re larger than-umm… than uh...” 

Fornicus squeezes the remaining words from her, gripping so tightly that Emelia feels the sound of crunching tendon and artery in her eardrums. Another weighty hand cups her shoulder, latches on tight then swiftly jerks her arm from its socket with nary a sound… except of course, for her screams. 

Emelia howls.

Pain rushes like electricity - like static fire feeding each capillary, no matter how small, with molten glass shards. The brilliant rush of it turns her knees into pudding, bringing her to sag forward into his body, then sliding down between his thighs as he takes a short step back.

Where Fornicus’ hands are devoid of warmth - nearly as cool as a cadaver without her body heat - his thighs and groin leak waves of it… just like his chest. 

Emelia sobs and cries her pain into the meat of one leg, choking on the reek of masculine ether as her forehead slumps unapologetically against his groin. There is not enough shame in the world to combat the suffocating pain in her shoulder, so she sobs and cries until a stiffness grows against her temple; a hidden cock hardening with each disgusting sob she shudders against it… and if she had been lucid enough to hear more than her own weeping, she’d have heard Fornicus groan with dark pleasure.

Her numb knuckles bang on the floorboards as she confuses to cry into his groin. The thick jolt that runs up her bones to the swinging socket sours her belly into nausea. She has no time to focus on the primal weapon bulging beneath her face… just this… this pain...

“... haaa… haa’n’god… ah’god.”

A dull pressure lifts her by the back of the neck. 

Large, deft fingers lodge in the hair at the nape of her neck, lifting her to her feet. Even the meticulous, not unkind way in which he pulls her up can stop her limp arm from swinging - bouncing and scraping inner bone to bone.

The lobby spins with pain as her blood pressure rises - her pulse hammering. 

Emelia struggles to focus on the blank-faced Lord staring into her eyes, but the tears slip and stream down her cheeks, tickling her chin and throat where they cool around the lip of his palm. Fleeting oxygen strangles the pain for a bit but forces her pulse into torn tendons and blood-fat fingers which twitch and throb at her side. 

The hope she’d held for that brief moment makes the next several hurt even more…

Chains rattlesnake from the dark pockets of the lobby, chasing the scuff of her toes along the floorboards. Metal loops tighten and yank. Fingers comb and rip. 

Teeth rend and sup. A firm, flat tongue tastes her torn muscle fibers like soufflé off the bottom of a plate only the snarl with hunger for the next course. 

She finds herself lost - overboard in a sea of sensation. It’s pain and it hurts, but while each touch and act brings agony, the pause between the next is sweet. 

His hands feast across acres of Emelia’s trembling body as the chains hold her aloft. Fornicus squeezes broken bones and soft curves alike, triggering dueling emotions to rise and sink. 

_ Twist. _

_ Snap. _

_ Bite… _ and kiss and a tender caress beneath her black eye - an insignificant blemish now. 

Minutes, hours… maybe days pass where she’s broken and sliced, disemboweled, and put back together again to rinse and repeat. Eventually, the chains and his strong arms draw her, as if in a crude dance, to the wall of mounted taxidermy. Emelia nestles between studded antlers and frozen wolves, unable to fight the way Fornicus molds her to lay between the many protruding muzzles and bones. Just this - this reprieve from his gift of pain - brings such intense pleasure that warmth blisters beneath her ribs where her heart thuds

Something whispers darkly between her ears - the sound so much like rain-heavy winds through jagged stone. There are no words, just a demand in a hoarse, gentle voice that gives her enough strength to raise her head and open her eyes.

Fornicus: The Lord of Bondage and Pain, parts his lips as though he hasn’t been tearing her flesh apart for eons. 

Ivory teeth glisten with pink streaks of blood. His mouth shines with gore, yet Emelia weakly licks her own lips as desire grows forth from embers of pain.

His thumb focuses on the stale bruise beneath her eye. Fornicus’ gaze narrows at it again but his ire means nothing now because all her body can understand is bliss… touch… and gentle intention. Of course, that’s a silly notion brought on by blood loss and a broken mental fortitude, but she still tries to smile and lean close; needing more, even if it hurts.

With a heavy exhale, Fornicus leans in to brush a bloody kiss to the lilac-colored hematoma. 

Wet aches lap at all the places still broken and oozing. Inside her ribs, Emelia feels her heart wobble, unable to reach a steady tempo for the past-pain and present-bliss. 

Hands that had ripped her body asunder, smooth along contusions and limp limbs, tracing the dip and swell of her waist... 

Lord Fornicus presses himself against her, crushing and reigniting the pain where he’s snapped and sliced. Something hot trickles down her inner thigh, cooling when it finally reaches her swollen ankle. Her clothes, hanging like shredded rags, become more noticeable for their lack of protection - the stark nudity they present is so much more apparent now that his hands explore for something more than torment. 

A barbed-wire catches in the fabric threaded around her waist as a muscle-thick arm holds her closer. Antlers nudge painfully between her bottom ribs while the wolves dead fur fuse with her sweat and blood; attached like glue to her flesh.

With the same speed he’d use to teleport the puzzle back into his grasp earlier, a hot chain of infinite temperature lurches between her dangling feet. 

Emelia screams on reflex, even though the sounds come out in a quiet rasp. Like living tentacles, more of his chains wrap around her thighs, snake around her groin and hip to wiggle between sweaty breasts. She prepares for the strangulation but gets a necklace of weighty loops instead. 

Another kiss lands upon her cheek - another closer to the edge of her mouth, the corner and then… her moans disappear inside his mouth.

His tongue swipes with a languid taste, and her body erupts in goosebumps. Each sensation vibrates like the unknown of an abrasive temperature. Whether hot or cold, pain or pleasure, Emelia’s body can’t define it. It’s both extremes at once yet none at the same time. Links of metal wring flesh and fat, squish with jellied blood. 

Screams - quieted by the grope of desire along her body - stutter in husky moans, no sooner heard than swallowed inside this demon's mouth.

Fornicus bends close until the air blowing from his nostrils swims up her own, filling her lungs with him.

There’s no end to this, she thinks, less afraid now. Death will be a simple transition from this plane to his, so Emelia slurps her tongue out to lick her blood off his mouth as he snarls, cups a breast in his palm, and devours her lips in tortuous kisses. Heaven and hell only know why she can’t recall a single instance of pain-memory, or what it even feels like. Blood loss, perhaps. The shock, too. Could be that she’s snapped and there is no soft pulling pleasure from his lips, just mushy pain receptors firing off the wrong chemicals as he coaxes intestine from her belly button. 

“... Lord-“ she gulps the rest of his title down as his teeth tear and suck her lower lip. That chain tightens around her throat - a bulging link denting her larynx. More chains splay her apart, lift her knees up and open until body heat reaches deep inside her. Fingers, gummed up with her own torn flesh and stain blackened-red, walk down her belly and stab within. They don’t go for her abdominal wall, eager to disembowel her… no, Fornicus tucks his fingers deep within her cunt until he can grip her from inside and out, then yanks her pelvis into his, eliciting a startled howl of pleasure from her.

Black eyes watch her - expression barely shifting - as he tilts his face against hers. Cheek to cheek. Breath hot. That whisper echoes inside her skull again as his fingers wedge deeper; thumb denting the soft mound of her vulva. This… he warns, is the only thing he hasn’t torn to pieces yet. 

Even her breasts have cried scarlet rivers from the many nicks, tears, and bites, both deliberate and collateral. No inch of her has escaped his gift but here: her wet, weeping cunt.

The chain digs tighter around her throat, squeezing tears out her swollen, red eyes until capillaries burst and cotton replaces her brain. His touch below obliterates any notions of pain even while she gags and cries. His torture is sugared chocolate, just like the dusted truffles of her youth. Even as the soft and sweet explorations below swiftly become an assault on her cunt, she grins and gasps with purified bliss. 

Fornicus fingers her as roughly and deftly as he had ripped her arm out of its socket - as violently as he had torn away her clothes and broken her leg. The same speed which brought the puzzle to his hands a thousand years ago is the same in which he fucks her now and… it’s…

Emelia draws no breath as a gush of fluids adds extra lubrication to his brutal rhythm. 

Fornicus’ chains trap her screams behind a wringing touch as he defiles her a hundred miles a second - rocking her broken body up against the mounted taxidermy where she hangs only for the chains to bring her back down against his chest, onto his hand. The act is vile - beautiful. The touch is punishing - serene. Sounds of sloppy flesh turns into the ripe sucking of sticky blood and a hungry cunt as he breaks skin and ushers in fresh red.

Emelia struggles to breathe while taking the punishing rut of his fingers that quickly becomes three, then four… then more…

His face twists into something dark. Lines of thick tension arise between his brows as his nose scrunches above bared teeth. The demon from Alvi’s illustrations. He’s the Lord from the stories, not that he ever wasn’t, but it’s no more true than now as he brings you such ecstasy while your body breaks anew.

Something snaps in her hip. Pain surges up her spine but tingles pleasantly a second later. His fist fills her and, with his lax lips pressed in a kiss at her cheek, makes her world fall out from under her. 

The tectonic plates of reality separate further, welcoming living shadows from bowed floorboards slats. Figures materialize like he once did, watching with hidden emotion as Lord Fornicus rapes her body, mind, and soul, pulling the last shreds of sanity from inside as if he were scooping her entrails out and discarding them on the floor.

Several new demons watch the spectacle. Mouth-covered smiles crease black eyes at her as she takes another plunge of his fist, reaching a brick wall of completion and an orgasmic array of evaporating pain. There is nothing left now but pleasure and the bliss of sensation. Only the absence of feeling is pain and there is none of that nonsense left now. 

To feel is to live…

Emelia struggles to hold him as the world descends upon them. Darkness falls like a blanket, blowing out the gaslight lantern glow, yet Fornicus appears either way; licking her lips and drawing her ecstasy out with all five fingers stretched. Barbed wires catch in the skin of her palms as she hugs him tightly, but that too is sweetness and salt. 

Her body trembles and jerks with him in her afterglow. 

With a sickening plop of abused flesh, his fist disappears to be replaced with the monstrous cock her face had hidden against so long ago - thick flesh, decorated in skin-deep metal bits that slurp inside her with even more damage than his knuckles brought. The raised bumps, grooves, and sharp edges slice and cut, rendering overstimulated flesh to pour blood to the floor in crashing waves… yet, she grins and screams and holds him closer while the chains pull to burst arteries, break tendon and snap bone.

Minions watch and wait - waiting for their turn, for they will all get their fill. There will be no more collections, no more black eyes from unworthy men, nor bills or loneliness. Emelia summoned them after all… one by one, with each failed turn of the puzzle. She sealed her fate and knows her end... 

… and what a glorious end it will be.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I think I might have disturbed myself with this at some points, but I've been going through a lot lately and this was a catharsis for me. I hope it's enjoyable to read because I needed to write something like this. If you have time, please let me know what you think! 
> 
> I wanna say thank you to Darth Fucamus for reading this through to get rid of most of the hiccups. <3
> 
> [TUMBLR](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/brimbrimbrimbrim)   
>  [DISCORD](https://discord.gg/BS4uvMK)   
>  [CURIOUS CAT](https://curiouscat.me/brimbrimbrimbrim)   
>  [TWITTER](https://twitter.com/LydiaBrim)   
>  [INSTAGRAM](https://www.instagram.com/brim_brim_brim_brim/)


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